Cold
by sodsta
Summary: Harry is convinced that death is nothing more than Draco deserves... but can he go through with it?


You watch him through the window. You went inside when the snow had started to fall but you thought it would be good for him to stay out in the cold, bound and only half dressed. You can see the way he shivers, arms, legs, torso and you can almost hear the chattering of teeth through the steadily condensing window pane. You step closer to the glass and wipe at it with your sleeve, clearing it so you don't lose sight of him. He's almost as white as the snow and you imagine it won't be long before his lips start turning blue.

Traitor. That's what he was, for he had betrayed you and you don't deal very well with betrayal. Seven months he had been lying to you, climbing into your bed at night and pretending that that's where he wanted to be. And for seven months, you had believed him. You know that some would blame you and call you a fool for letting him in, but you don't. This isn't your fault, it's his. His fault for lying to you, his fault for using you. Even his fate was his fault now.

You see clouds of steam rise over his head, wrapping and tangling in his hair before dispersing and evaporating into the cold night air. Goosebumps cover every inch of flesh that you can see and it's almost enough to make you go back outside and remove the threadbare trousers you'd left him with, just so you can see if his whole body is as cold. You suspect it is. His hair, first dampened by the snow, now seems to be freezing over and little blond icicles hang from his forehead, knocking against his skull every time he moves to get free.

You notice the tips of his fingers have gone a funny shade of purple and you wonder if maybe he has frost bite. Nasty thing, frost bite. You smirk and wipe again at the glass, watching briefly as little streams of condensation drip downwards over it, leaving thin streaks of clear glass against the frosted pane. He's crying, you can tell by the way his shoulders move. It's different from shivering, more pronounced and much less subtle. This amuses you, because you remember all the times he had watched you cry and it only just occurs to you that he'd never shed a single tear in your presence. Until now.

Part of you wonders if he'd tell you he loved you if you were to go outside now and ask. He's said it before and you believed it then, but you know that something inside would prevent you from falling for it again. You're not the kind of person to touch a boiling kettle more than once. Well… not anymore. You're free of that now and you're wiser because of it.

You hear his sobbing through the glass now and part of you thrills at the sound of it. A high pitched, wailing, full of pain and misery. Maybe you should go out and talk to him. You're not sure he totally understands the severity of his crime, the look in his eyes is the look of a man wrongly convicted and you imagine that's what Sirius must have looked like. The thought that Malfoy would _dare_ to look hurt… _betrayed_… makes your hands clench into fists tight enough to make your knuckles turn white. He betrayed _you_.

He knows you're watching him, he keeps looking over at the window and calling your name. He can't see you, though, because you've turned out the light. The most he catches is the light of moon reflecting off your glasses every now and then as you shift your weight from one foot to the other. Part of you almost feels sorry for him, not because he is dying, but because of how pathetic he is about it. You know you would have faced death like man and held your head high, but Malfoy sobs like a little child and struggles against his bonds with a fear that's almost enough to make you feel sick with disgust.

You replay the conversation over in your head, going over things he'd said to you as you'd bound his wrists to the bird house above his head. He'd apologised profusely, all wide-eyed and afraid, told you he hadn't wanted to join them, that he'd had no other choice. Lies. You know they were lies because The Order had been his other choice. _You_ had been his other choice. You'd told him that so many times you're hard pressed now to remember just _how_ many.

You won't let him fool you into trusting him again, and you won't allow yourself to think, even for one second, that he might be telling the truth, because you wont risk your heart like that a second time.

The snow has been falling for almost an hour now and there's over an inch of it settled on the garden floor. He's still shivering, though you notice his legs are bent and his arms pulled taut above his head. You step away from the window and make your way into the garden, over to the pale figure hanging limp in his restraints and you watch as he raises his head, grey eyes brimming with tears and red around the edges.

"Please don't let me die," he pleads, and his voice is little more than a whisper.

You look down at him for a long time, in silence. There's still one question you want the answer to. "Did you ever really love me, Draco?" Even as you ask it you know you've made a mistake.

"I still do…"

No! This was not the answer you'd wanted, though you knew it was the answer you had been bound to get. You wanted so much for it to be all his fault, and you didn't want to believe him because it was so much easier to pass the blame off onto someone else, to just not deal with the crushing pain of knowing that _you_ failed.

Damnation!

You hate the way life works sometimes. You'd been so sure about this, so positive that this is the way it was going to happen. You should have stayed inside, because now that resolve was melting, despite the cold, and you untie his wrists and carry the near-lifeless body back inside and put him in your bed.

You won't risk your heart for his love, but you can't risk your soul for his death.

Now, though, you have a problem, because part of you tells you that you still love him, too.

You walk to the window and wipe at it once again with the back of your sleeve. The cold suddenly looks very inviting.


End file.
